


Mama's Girl

by am_bellanoire



Series: Love Transcends (Life with Lyra) [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/F, Family, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 16:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18594910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/am_bellanoire/pseuds/am_bellanoire
Summary: Bellatrix's heart rate increased as the words left her mouth. She had not been expecting this. Well, no, perhaps she had. But why was it so hard? Her hands weretremblingand for Salazar's sake, she was probably the most terrified she had been in a long time. For the first time in her life, she felt absolutely filthy. Unworthy of touching something so pure. Her hands were tainted with the blood of thousands, all the evil deeds she had done. How dare she even lift a finger to touch any child? Especially her own.





	Mama's Girl

An angry cry rent the air, jarring both witches from their sleep like a kick from a full grown Abraxan stallion, loud and demanding, sharp and filled with distress. Hermione rolled over and sat up with a groan, brushing her bushy, sleep mussed hair from her face. Her movements were sluggish, tired, but automatic just the same. Bellatrix watched from dark, bleary eyes as her wife stepped out of bed to tend to their daughter, wailing for attention in the room adjacent to theirs. In her day, mothers would be permitted their sleep in the wee hours of the morning and the House Elves would tend to the children. It was how she and her two sisters were raised. What Cissy had done when Draco had been a baby. But for some reason whenever Lyra cried out in the night, Hermione jumped up as if a Conjure Flame Charm had been cast beneath their bedding to cater to the child's needs. Even when she was practically dead on her feet for the need to sleep. 

Perhaps it was a Muggle thing. 

With an exasperated sigh that may have been a yawn, Bellatrix sat up and knifed her fingers through her curls, brushing them out of her face. While she doubted their infant daughter did not cry or fuss more than most babies did at her age, she couldn't help but feel the girl – who as far as she was concerned was destined to be a Slytherin once the time came for her to attend Hogwarts – picked the most inopportune moments to voice her displeasure. Majority of the time she was all sweet smiles and coos. Not that any had ever been directed to _her_. Since her birth, Bellatrix had been cautious around the baby. Not wanting to get too close. She knew that this bothered Hermione, she could easily see the hurt in her wife's eyes whenever she ignored their daughter. But what the former Gryffindor didn't know, or simply couldn't see, was that it hurt Bellatrix too. Why couldn't she see she was doing the child a favor in not getting too close? Of course she loved her, she loved them both. But she couldn't bear Lyra's purity and innocence when she herself was sullied, _ruined_ by her dark past. 

It had been _months_ but for some reason, on this night, seeing Hermione stumble over a shoe -- she was quite sure it was one of her boots-- she shook her head. Her mind made up. 

“I'll go.” 

The brunette's body jolted as if she had been struck with a particularly nasty Stinging Jinx and the look of disbelief she aimed at Bellatrix over her shoulder was enough to make the dark witch's breath get caught in her throat. Salazar's ball's had it been this bad? So much so that her own wife was looking at her as if she didn't recognize her. 

“You don't have to.” 

The words were strained, uttered softly and almost breathless. Enough to make Bellatrix get to her feet and cross the span of distance between the two of them in three strides despite the heavy weight of sleep in her limbs. 

“It's fine. I – I'll do it.”

Hermione searched her face for a long time, several heartbeats, her honeyed gaze shrewd and sharp in an instant even as Lyra's cries continued in the background. Bellatrix could hardly blame her for it. Like any mother lion, she was protecting her cub against an outside force. And even if Bellatrix had just as much claim to the child they shared as she did, she hadn't proven herself to be more than a stranger since Lyra had been born. 

But at last, the tension slowly bled away and Hermione nodded curtly. Her eyes were glistening and didn't that cause Bellatrix's heart to give a most unpleasant lurch beneath her ribcage? _Fuck_ , she had really screwed this up, hadn't she. 

“All right. She, well, she's probably hungry, needs to be changed. Or to be held.” 

She rattled off the instructions in a stilted fashion but Bellatrix nodded all the same as if she understood.

“Right. I'll take care of it,” she replied even as her heart began to pound and it felt like it had suddenly become harder to draw air into her lungs. 

Hermione bit her lower lip but nodded once more, stepping aside to allow her wife out of the room. 

The cries were louder in the corridor, and shrill too like the child was positively _seething_ because she had been kept waiting so long. 

Bellatrix shuffled to the closed door of the nursery and turned the knob. Even in the dim light of the candles, charmed to steadily burn without melting the wax, she could see the general splendor of the room. No expense had been spared. She remembered when Hermione had been in the later stages of her pregnancy and had not been as agile as before, she had presided over its construction. From the gold threaded brocade wallpaper, to the Aubusson carpeting that cushioned her footfalls, the rocker carved in the design of a winged horse, to the charmed ceiling that depicted the constellations in all their glory. The crib, however, was the piece de resistance. Handcrafted from rose gold wrought iron, with graceful curves and spirals, a lion and a snake embedded within the barring with a canopy of sheer white satin, a mobile of stars and moons set magically to spin to the child's content. 

Clearly Lyra wasn't currently contented with the celestial circle.

As Bellatrix came upon her daughter, a strangled sound rose in her throat. With her tiny hands balled into fists, her legs kicking wildly, her face flushed with blood, her cheeks wet with tears, she was the perfect picture of rage. Yet, she was beautiful still, in the way she had been beautiful the day she had been born. 

“What's the matter?” Bellatrix rasped, her voice hoarse but soft, “Was it something the mobile did? Shall I hex it for you?” 

Sensing she was no longer alone, Lyra merely increased the volume of her cries, her movements becoming more agitated. 

“Guess not. I take it that you're hungry, then?” Her tone was almost a whisper, could hardly be heard over the noise the baby was making. With an elegant flick of her wand, Bellatrix summoned the bottle that sat on the mantlepiece of the room's unlit fireplace and with a tap, watched it fill with milk. Testing it on the back of her hand the way she had seen Hermione do countless time, she hummed. Not too hot, not too cold. 

With an unsteady hand, she placed the nipple of the bottle to Lyra's mouth, moving it back and forth to encourage her to suck. Without even opening her eyes, the child knocked the bottle away with a wave of her fist and continued to scream. Bellatrix's brows furrowed but she couldn't help the surge of pride she felt at Lyra's strength of will. Oh, and it was clear her wand hand would be her left. Interesting. 

“You haven't soiled yourself. I'd be able to smell _that_ wouldn't I?” Not that she would want to or even know how to change a dirty diaper. That was House Elf''s work, more so since theirs was paid for its services, “So I suppose that means you want to be...held.” 

Bellatrix's heart rate increased as the words left her mouth. Oh, _fuck_ she had not been expecting this. Well, no, perhaps she had. But why was it so hard? Cissy held her all the time whenever she visited, could hardly keep her hands to herself. Neither could anyone who had met their daughter, fawning and crooning over her, bouncing her, rocking her, pinching her dimpled cheeks. Her hands were _trembling_ and for Salazar's sake, she was probably the most terrified she had been in a long time. For the first time in her life, she felt absolutely filthy. Unworthy of touching something so pure. Her hands were tainted with the blood of thousands, all the evil deeds she had done. How dare she even lift a finger to touch any child? Especially her own.

Lyra who seemed to sense her discomfort, or abject terror if one were being technical, bless her, she lifted her arms, her fists opening and closing as if to meet her halfway. Or to give consent. 

She awkwardly lifted the child from her crib, gripping her tightly. Not tight enough to cause her pain but she didn't want to drop her either. She felt so unsteady but she cradled her in the crook of her arm the way she had seen Hermione do countless times. And almost instantly, Lyra settled, her cries reduced to hiccups and she opened her eyes. Those odd eyes of hers – one brown, the other black – that was proof of the magical union between both mothers. 

“Mama's here, little one,” Bellatrix whispered, gritting her teeth against the sting behind her eyelids, “And she won't ever let you go.” It was a promise, a vow, an oath, uttered reverently. One she would go to her grave to keep. 

“Beautiful.”

The soft sound of Hermione's voice from the doorway of the nursery caused Bellatrix to turn. With damp eyes and a watery smile, the brunette fully entered the room, coming to stand behind her wife, gazing down in wonder as Lyra yawned and snuggled deeper into the dark witch's arms. 

“She is, isn't she?” Bellatrix murmured, her tone hushed. 

“Yes. But I meant you. You look beautiful holding our daughter.” 

Dark eyes met honey brown and Hermione could see the emotion within them, a swirling maelstrom of pain, regret, guilt, and self loathing. “Forgive me.” 

She shook her head and pressed her lips to the column of a pale throat. “I already have.”

“Do you suppose she will though?” The was a tinge of worry in Bellatrix's voice, something Hermione wished with all her heart she could assuage. A hitch of breath as if trying to stave of the threat of tears, “Once she's old enough to know....”

Hermione said the only thing she could say, the only thing that mattered in that moment. The only thing that would ever matter. “She loves you. And so do I.”


End file.
